


Just Desserts

by onstraysod



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Fun times in the mess, M/M, One Shot, Secret Relationship, and even better times in the captain's storeroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 00:42:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17012268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onstraysod/pseuds/onstraysod
Summary: Thomas Jopson must sift the naughty officers from the nice in theTerror's mess. Will he play favorites or simply tell the truth?Written for Day 3 (Naughty or Nice) of the12 Days of Carnivale





	Just Desserts

Supper had just concluded and Jopson was making his way around the mess table, refilling the officers’ glasses with Allsopp’s, when Crozier called for dessert. “Where’s that box of chocolates Lady Ross kindly ordered from Fortnum and Mason, Jopson? Let’s pass it around the table.”

“I’m afraid there are only seven chocolates left, sir,” Jopson said, taking the box from the sideboard. A general groan of disappointment went up around the table.

There were ten of them in the mess tonight, Macbean being in sick bay with a flare-up of gout, which meant that three of the men would be deprived of dessert. Hodgson was the first to offer a solution. “I suppose we could draw lots.”

“I have a better idea,” Crozier said. “Thomas, do you remember that time on Parry’s second expedition when he brought out that pudding and only allowed the officers he deemed the best-behaved to have a share in it?”

Blanky laughed. “Aye. That was to punish Lyon. Parry was suspicious of all the time he’d been spending among the native women. Lyon was so mad he threatened to make a formal complaint to the Admiralty.”

Crozier nodded, grinning. “Right. Well that’s what we’re going to do. The last of Lady Ross’s chocolates will be shared among the seven nicest men in this mess, while the three naughtiest men will go without. And you, Jopson, shall decide which is which!”

The officers laughed gently at the expression of horror that came over Jopson’s face. It reminded Crozier, in particular, of one of Parry’s reindeer on the North Pole expedition, being forced up or down the ship’s ramp: body frozen in a rictus of uncertainty, eyes wide and darting from side to side. “Sir, I don’t think I would feel comfortable--"

“Nonsense, Jopson, it’s all in good fun,” Crozier reassured him, “and no one here will hold your judgment against you. Are we agreed, gentlemen?” There were eager sounds of assent around the table. “Besides, Jopson, I can’t do it. It might be misconstrued as an official act of approbation or disapproval. You are the only neutral party we have.”

“Go on, Jopson!” Thomas, one of the young mates, cried. “We’ll take it without complaint, even the naughtiest of us!”

Comforted by the men’s good humor, Jopson smiled and - with a small shrug - began at the head of the table, with Hodgson who sat at Crozier’s right hand. He hesitated thoughtfully, the box balanced on his left palm.

“And you must give us the reasons for each of your judgments, Jopson,” Crozier added with a wink.

Jopson considered Hodgson’s placid expression and held forth a chocolate. “Mr. Hodgson always says please and thank you.”

“You see, men? Manners are important,” Hodgson said, accepting the chocolate with a wide smile and immediately biting into it. “Ooh, caramel! My favorite.”

Next up was Irving. Jopson immediately placed a chocolate in front of him. “Mr. Irving always remembers to say grace before a meal.”

Jopson proceeded to Peddie, awarding him a chocolate for his attentiveness to the health of the crew, but when he reached a grinning Blanky he closed the box lid. “Sir,” he said, addressing Crozier, “I have noticed that Mr. Blanky has an unfortunate proclivity for foul language.”

“That he does, Jopson! No chocolate for him!” Crozier cried, laughing.

“No offense intended, sir,” Jopson whispered to Blanky, who seemed delighted.

“None taken. I wear my reputation for verbal filth as a badge of honor,” Blanky cried to the other men’s hilarity.

Moving on, Jopson presented a chocolate to Helpman for his excellent recordkeeping, and to Hornby for once helping him move the mess table so he could mop the floorboards. Reaching the other mate, however, Jopson shook his head. “I believe the limerick from last Christmas Eve is still fresh in all our minds, sir.”

The table roared, young Thomas seeming the most amused of all at this reference to a particularly colorful limerick he had recited after being too indulgent with the Christmas spirits. Grinning, he made a gesture of helplessness. “I am willing to sacrifice dessert for the honor of being remembered for my art.”

“That leaves one last sinner!” Crozier cried, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Who will it be?”

“Well probably not you, Francis,” Blanky ventured, “seeing as how Jopson’s your steward.”

Crozier held up both hands. “I am to be judged same as the rest of you. And I would say my peril is the greater, as Jopson knows all my bad habits.”

Jopson smiled but said nothing. Approaching McDonald, he held out a chocolate. “When I scalded my hand on a kettle last September, Dr. McDonald treated me with great compassion,” he pronounced solemnly. McDonald chuckled.

“I only gave you a bit of salve, Jopson, but I’ll accept the chocolate nonetheless.”

Jopson had now reached the last two men at the table: the captain and, seated to his left, Edward Little. Taking up a position between them, he paused for thought.

“You’ve damned yourself, Francis,” Blanky said, wagering that Little would receive the last chocolate.

But he was wrong. With a decisive nod, Jopson picked out the last of the candies and placed it in front of the captain, then stepped back from the table, his duty discharged.

“Well, how about that? I guess I’m not so bad to serve after all,” Crozier said.

“I call favoritism,” Blanky said as the others applauded. “I was right before, he wasn’t going to deprive you of all people, Francis.”

“I’ll put you under arrest in your cabin, Thomas, for calling Jopson’s fairness into question,” Crozier declared, grinning. “But come, Jopson, make my argument for me. You didn’t say why you deemed Edward naughty.”

Little, who had accepted his loss of dessert without comment, turned in his chair to look back at the steward, the smallest quirk of his lips betraying his amusement. Jopson glanced at him, then turned back to Crozier.

“I should not wish to reveal an officer’s secrets, sir,” Jopson said evenly. “Let us just say he knows why and leave it at that.”

Sometime gave a low whistle and the other men laughed. “A serious accusation! How do you answer it, Edward?” Crozier asked.

Little shrugged. His expression was serious, even a little affronted, but his dark eyes seemed unusually bright in the lamplight. “I cannot, sir. The episode in question escapes me. But if Jopson deems me naughty, how am I to refute it? I’ve no doubt I’ve done something to earn his disapproval. I can only hope I may redeem myself somehow.”

“What do you say to that, Jopson? Is Edward redeemable?”

Jopson smiled. “Very much so, sir.”

“Well then, let the redemption begin now,” Crozier suggested. “Edward, accompany Jopson to the hold and help him carry up a few bottles of whiskey from my stores. Everyone will be treated to dessert after all, the naughty and the nice. And you as well, Jopson.”

Hearty applause met this decree, and Little rose, gesturing for Jopson to proceed him out the door of the mess. The steward grabbed a lantern and walked briskly down the passage to the aft ladder, the lieutenant just behind him. The hold was dark and silent, the men at their supper above, a few still on duty on deck. Reaching the captain’s storeroom, Jopson stepped inside and hung up the lantern as Little closed the door behind them. Then Jopson turned, straight into the lieutenant’s embrace.

Whatever words he’d been about to say were lost in Little’s mouth and subsequently forgotten in the blazing heat of the lieutenant’s kiss. Jopson moaned, grasping handfuls of Little’s coat as he was pushed back against the shelves, the tins and bottles upon them clanking together in protest.

“You’re not angry with me, then, I take it?” Jopson asked as soon as Little paused for breath.

“How can I be?” Little murmured against Jopson’s lips, nibbling them between each word. He nuzzled his face against the steward’s, his long eyelashes tickling against Jopson’s cheek. “When the sweetest dessert of all is still mine.” His mouth claimed Jopson’s again, his hands pushing beneath the other man’s coat to stroke along his chest. “You taste better than chocolate, Thomas,” Little whispered. “Better than anything.”

Jopson trembled. The want was constant now, a hunger in the pit of his belly that had nothing to do with food, and in moments like this it seemed almost unbearable. The lack of time and privacy had made a dishonest man of him: he stole and hoarded moments and covered his crimes with lies. “I pity them up in the mess, thirsty for their whiskey,” he whispered, pressing his lips to Little’s chin, his brow, the tip of his nose. “It will take some minutes for us to shift all these crates to get to the bottles.”

Little pulled back, his brow furrowed. “What are you talking about? Isn’t that them, just over there on that shelf?”

The dimples deepened in Jopson’s blushing cheeks. “Yes, but no one in the mess knows that.”

Little cupped Jopson’s face in both hands and took his mouth again, tongue moving sinuously against the steward’s own. “And just who’s the naughty one again?” he asked, before sinking to his knees.


End file.
